Light the Way Home
by fleurofthecourt
Summary: He doesn't know who or, even what, he is, and he's afraid, desperately afraid, that he's going to hurt someone. [Form and Void Coda, The Bad Seed Missing Scene, Implied Dean/Cas].
1. Chapter 1

Ch. 1: POV Castiel, Form and Void Coda

Ch. 2: POV Dean, The Bad Seed Missing Scene

* * *

Castiel's in pain - so much pain.

He doesn't know who or, even what, he is, and he's afraid, desperately afraid, that he's going to hurt someone. (He can't hurt anyone else. He has so much blood on his hands already. He can't take having more.)

He lies still on the bunker's cold floor, shivering slightly, trying to hold his eyes open, hoping beyond hope that Sam and Dean will find him, before the spell takes hold again.

He doesn't remember how he got to be here, exactly. He only knows that he left the lifeless bodies of his fallen brothers behind, trying to imagine what else they could possibly be to him, with one thought clouding all others: he wanted to go home.

And Heaven?

Heaven was no longer home.

The bunker's door clicks open and closed, feet pad down the stairs, and Sam and Dean's voices carry in the stairwell.

He closes his eyes in momentary relief. Their presence - it soothes.

He pushes against the books, knocking one or two over, to get their attention, and they come running, guns cocked.

He can barely lift his head to look at them, and his voice is barely above a whisper. "Help me."

Neither of them say a word, and he's afraid that he's wrong about this, that he truly has no home anymore, no family to lean on. He finds himself pleading, "Please help me. Both of you. I...I need you..."

 _To be my family._

 _To be my home._

 _To be my place to belong._

Dean crouches over him, cups his chin in one hand, and lifts his head with the other. His eyes are filled with concern. His voice is gruff but not unkind. "You're fine, huh? Because that's kinda the opposite of what this looks like."

Sam watches them for a moment, then shakes himself. "I'm gonna grab the medkit. Get him cleaned up."

When Sam leaves, Dean pulls him upright and leans him awkwardly against the books. "You gonna tell us what the hell happened?"

"The short version?" Dean nods. "Rowena wanted me to kill Crowley. She cast a spell."

"Think I know which one," Dean says bitterly. Then he sweeps his hand over his bloodied shirt, "So you go rogue or ...?"

He shakes his head. "I asked the angels for help. They wanted you and Sam. They tortured me..." he closes his eyes. "They said they hated me."

"The angels ?" Dean repeats, eyes raised. "You're an angel."

"I'm not so sure that I am," Cas says ruefully.

Dean frowns at that. Then shrugs. "Okay. How'd you get away?"

"The spell...it took over. They wouldn't listen. And they're dead, all of them, because of me. Hannah is dead because of me."

Dean places his hand on his shoulder, and he leans into the touch. His skin is warm, and he's so cold, so much colder than he realized.

"You're shaking. Jesus Christ." Dean peels his jacket off and pulls it on him over his trenchcoat. It wouldn't fit right even without it, but with it, it feels especially cumbersome. It does warm him, though. "Getting you a blanket. Stay here."

He's not sure he could stand even if he tried, so he just nods.

Shortly thereafter, Sam comes back and needlessly applies rubbing alcohol to the cuts on his face and abdomen. His grace is already trying to heal them but too much of it is focused on fighting the spell. He doesn't know how long his grace can continue to keep it at bay. "You need to bind me, Sam. Handcuff me. Put me in a circle of holy oil if you have to. I can't hurt you and Dean. I can't."

"You really think we need to do that?" Sam asks, frowning.

"You and Dean have seen the effects of this spell already. You know that you do."

Sam winces at that. "This is my fault. I never should have left you with Rowena."

"You did not cast this spell, Sam. The only one to blame is Rowena."

Sam's eyes are still filled with apologies as he handcuffs him.

Dean's are too, as he wraps him thoroughly in a thick, grey, and blessedly warm blanket, muttering that he feels like they're taking him prisoner.

The two of them lead him into the next room and ease him into a chair, and he is certain of something, something the other angels had been certain of a long time ago.

His home is not Heaven.

His home is two broken boys trying to put themselves and the world back together.

Home is here.


	2. Chapter 2

Cas is wobbly enough on his feet that Dean lingers behind him, his hand never straying far from his back. And he's more than a little grateful for the excuse. He needs Cas to be close right now. Because that - that was too goddamn close.

The cuts and bruises blooming across his face, he's not gonna lie, they hurt. But, they're never going to cut at him like the sight of Cas' body going limp and rigid.

Something strange gets caught in his throat and chest if he dwells on it too long, so he tries not to.

Besides, Cas is alive. And even though 'fine' is probably more than a stretch, since Cas looks like he's getting over a bad case of the flu, his eyes are clear of the spell and he's. He's here.

Dean clings to that as he pushes Cas into the backseat and digs the blanket out of the trunk. Cas insists he doesn't need it, and Dean ignores him.

He throws Sam the keys before settling in himself. He tugs Cas' head towards his lap, because he looks like he could use a nap or five, and Cas gives him a wane look, because, seriously, Dean. Angels don't sleep.

Well, this one, if it's even remotely possible, is going to.

Sam tunes the radio to a soft rock station, because he's awesome, and Dean tells Cas to close his eyes. Because angels also don't get hexed. "You can down a bottle of Benadryl, you aren't asleep by the time we get home."

Cas nods into his elbow, before repeating, "home," solemnly.

The word is a soft hum, filled with relief, like it had been in question.

And Dean's heart clenches. Because there are so many things that he and Sam need to fix right now, but this - he didn't even know this was broken.

Of course their home is Cas' home. How could that even be a question?

(He knows how. He knows exactly how. It's not like his words or his fists have been particularly welcoming).

He pulls Cas in a little tighter. "Need help finding somewhere to bunk? Think we can get you a little cozier without those chains. What do you think?"

Cas' lips quirk, just barely, but enough that Dean feels a little lighter. "Undoubtedly."

"Can't speak for Sammy, but mi casa es su casa - my room is your room."

Sam frowns at Dean in the rearview mirror before offering, "There's a TV in my room, Cas. You can use it if you want."

Cas nods as his eyes fall closed, his breathing evens out, and by the time they're pulling up to the bunker's door, he's snoring softly.

Dean nudges him, gently, out of the car, "We're home, Cas. You're home."


End file.
